100 Charah Moments
by fAteD lOvE
Summary: #076- Watching Over You. Chuck and Sarah try to meet in the middle. Set during the Shaw debacle. Just to make myself feel better because Season Three is on T.V. over here and I have to relive the angst again.
1. Chapter 1: Implicit Rules

Hm, I've lost my muse. I've just posted this because there is painfully little to read in the fandom right now, so forgive me if this is too short.

This is a drabble using the Royai 100 themes, and it's the first of the (hopefully) many that will come -knock on wood-

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Except ... a couple of soccer balls and a big big poster of Cristiano Ronaldo :) That's all I need in the world anyway.

* * *

**  
077. Implicit rules**

**--**

_"And so, my main point is this: under no circumstances, do not, never, compromise yourself with your asset, or assignment-"_

--

It was downtown Los Angeles. And it was a nondescript building, nothing very special.

Three stories: at the bottom- a dojo. The middle housed the communications equipment, computers and the like. The top found six spacious classrooms with bare walls. It could be left at any time, any emergency, evacuated- and nothing important would be found anywhere on the premises, not a scrap of paper or clue to gave away who might have been there or what activities that may have taken place inside.

In fact, only seven heat signatures could be found at that precise moment if one had been bothered to check.

Well, eight, now that one had just passed the entrance.

--

Six of those people were currently sitting cross-legged on the wooden floor, listening intently, wanting to make a good impression in one of their first classes. It was a real honour to even be there, to dedicate their lives and to potentially serve their country with their abilities.

The seventh person, a woman, stood in the front of the room, leaning against a desk- one of the only pieces of furniture, her expression very serious. As she spoke, she surveyed the faces of her students, all ranging from seventeen to their mid twenties. There was no reason to know any more about them except for their CIA given names and their outward appearance.

Her job was not to analyse their thought processes or anything more; that would come later for them and done by a professional shrink- her job was simply to educate them on agency protocols and commence their basic training before releasing them to their next mentor.

"Now that we've gone through the fundamentals and they've been explained thoroughly, I must impress on you one last thing-"

How many times had she repeated that sentence to several different groups of new recruits?

It was getting rather monotonous.

At least she'd have the pleasure of overseeing and rating the hand to hand examination later on in the week for the graduating to-be agents at the actual academy that thankfully- featured much more advanced facilities and security than this dumpster.

"... And so, the main point, the crux of my lecture, the one most dangerous thing that may make or break your career -the one that fells even the best of agents- is this: under no circumstances, never, I repeat, **never **compromise yourself with your asset, or assignment-"

"Hey Sarah! Sweetie!"

Sarah dropped her head into her hand despairingly, closing her eyes briefly.

The class swivelled as one to stare at the man whose torso half leaned into the room, clutching the door and the door frame for balance, a beaming smile on his face, waving his hand enthusiastically.

"Miss. Um...Agent Walker...?"

Sarah looked slightly guiltily at the woman a few meters to her left, "Yes, Ms Hamilton."

A beat. "Who's that?"

Sarah took a deep breath. "My...um...my asset," she said quickly and casually, trying to skip over the words.

Susannah Hamilton's eyebrows furrowed in curiosity, patching together the very obvious signs.

Sarah continued doggedly, pointedly ignoring Chuck who didn't cease in his efforts to catch her attention. "-Because usually they are going to be civilians -important citizens who are useful to the government, -but none the less defenceless..."

"Sarah!" Chuck hissed again, gesturing even more wildly, the scant light catching a golden glint on his hand, his marriage band clearly visible now.

She spoke faster, and increasingly louder, attempting to keep her composure cool and indifferent, "-And the situation rarely turns out-"

"Saaarrraaahhh!!" He called cheerfully in a singsong voice.

Sarah grimaced, fearing for her reputation. Her class looked equal parts amused, accusing, and shocked.

"We gotta pick up the kids!"

None of her students would ever take her seriously again after this.

* * *

If you're wondering what the 'Royai 100 themes' are, they're pretty much just 100 different words or short sentences that act like prompts for the authors of _Fullmetal Alchemist_, who write a short story for each on the relationship between Roy and Riza. I don't actually write in that community, but I occasionally read the fics.

I stole the themes for my own use and for the good of Charah. Be a good Samaritan and review?

DID I MENTION THAT DAVID BECKHAM CAME TO NZ AGAIN? I flew down to Welly to see his first visit last year. This time I was the crazy screaming fan behind the goal box with the uber big sign saying 'I (heart) Becks' if you were watching TV- well at least I _think_ I'm on TV...

P.s, if you happen to review, if you have any scenes that you think would be good for an introspective in any episode of Chuck, mention it in your review.


	2. Chapter 2: Things One Cannot Understand

Hm this is just something hanging around on my computer. I'm trying to get back in the swing of writing again. Too bad not many reviewed my episode 14 fanfic; I wanted to see what other people thought of the Charah interaction in that episode.

Disclaimer: I don't want anything _'Chuck_' except Sarah's wardrobe. Her clothes are_ pretttty_...especially the Blahniks...or were they Choos?

* * *

**  
019. Things one cannot understand **

--

_"We know what we are, but know not what we may be." -Shakespeare_

--

They were complete opposites.

_She_ was an honors student at college. _She_ might've been described as a hard working nerd, if not for her good looks and position as soccer team captain. And with her intelligence and logical mind, it meant the theories and reasoning behind her law major came naturally to her. _He_ was a science freak, who pushed the boundaries of ethical and moral values in their researching. Not just that, but _she_ excelled at every subject she attempted; the skills that lead to success in her main subject also let her apply them to others. Grasp the concept, apply the concept, and understand the problem in question.

Easy to understand.

Practical was a word that was used a lot to describe her, and being practical made her one of the best in the agency.

It wasn't until September the 19th, when her logical, and measured, world was logically tipped exactly 180 degrees and her logical mind failed to grasp the abstract and ever-changing personality of one Chuck Bartowski who had slipped into her life most unobtrusively.

Try as she might, infuriatingly, he defied all laws of logic. Perhaps that was what attracted her in the first place: opposites attract as it was. He was like the multifaceted light that was refracted through crystal, his brightness; his colorful character drew her in even as her logical mind continued stubbornly to unravel his thoughts and his actions.

She didn't understand why his greasy pizza nights appealed to her stomach that had previously been used to swanky five star downtown restaurants.

Or how his faded comic covered walls and gadget infested room comforted her more than her expensive high rise apartment.

Or why he refused to kill an annoying buzzing fly that was intent on disturbing their cover date (and stopped her from it too) - while she would kill a man without another thought.

She couldn't understand how he could put up with the motley crew at the Buy More for five years straight and waste his Stanford honed talent in an electronic store in Burbank when he could be jetting all over the world living to his potential, for conventions and high profile business meetings.

And why she kept on being drawn inexplicably to his girlish screams in the face of danger, and his fumbling and rather nosy and annoying traits- when she'd once had super suave, handsome and dangerous spies during her missions.

How he managed to break down enough of her walls to go to her high school reunion as her boyfriend- or meet her father for that matter.

That when she was nestled comfortably against his side when they were cover snuggling, she felt safer than having a bazooka, machine guns, a SWAT team and heavy body armor on her. That she felt safe enough to drift off into sleep while the Bartowskis were watching re-runs of Star Wars and manage not to spring away when she woke up when she found herself lying on top of him like melted chocolate on the couch, the lights out and a blanket flung by Ellie over them.

Or maybe- how she found his habit of smearing tomato sauce over all his food before he ate adorable. And especially when she felt an urge to kiss the red substance off his cheek whenever he ate too quickly.

How he was able to read her as if her facade was chipped over use in her years of undercover work, read how she loved chocolate croissants, her emotions after a mission, her little facial cues and he knew how she felt in her past and her motivations to immerse herself in her job to ignore the pain. He understood her better than anybody, and better than she knew herself. He understood how she got to where she was while she was confused where she had gone in life and where she was going.

And for the _life_ of her, she couldn't understand his persistence in his clumsy attempts to gain her affection.

She'd been Jenny Burton, Rachel Taylor, Eva Anderson, or Hayley Williams; all secure covers with a wealth of planted background.

And yes, she may also have been espionage extraordinaire, Secret Agent Walker. She understood she was seen as stunningly beautiful, that she could disassemble a gun before a man could think up a sexist remark, and trained with the elite professionals in combat around the world-

But when he smiled at her- soft lips stretched over white teeth in a wide, unreserved smile that contained no lies, no dark intentions, no defenses- and his glittering brown eyes fixed themselves on her, drawing her into a cocoon of his warmth and protection-

She understood that she wouldn't _ever_ understand how she had been brought down to earth by an ordinary man, who earned twelve dollars fifty an hour, a society labeled dork with nothing special in particular, _or_ to offer except a normal life.

And as she is gently reminded by the warm weight of his hand on hers... it's _okay_ if she leaves some things unexplained, illogical things like the whims of love-

-because she may also just be '_Sarah_', a deeply sensitive woman, twenty six years old, and deeply,_ passionately_ in love.

* * *

I think this turned out okay actually, I had to make it longer or it would've been a waste of the last line that I wanted to use somehow (which was the purpose of me writing this in the first place). I tried to keep my NZ version of spelling out of this but I'm afraid if I use your spelling too much it'll become a habit- my English teacher will be _so_ happy about_ that_.

Tell me what you think about this piece of writing!


	3. Chapter 3: Cureless

Depressing one this time. Sorry.

_No One's Gonna Love You_, by Band Of Horses.

Kept it subtle, hope you pick up on things.

* * *

**026. Cureless**

--

_We are the ever-living ghost of what once was._

--

Her new codename was Laura. Laura Eckert.

-

That's what it said on her travel papers.

-

It also said she was German, blonde, busty and blue eyed.

-

He'd heard a lot of mentions of her through his sources. He wasn't keeping tabs on her because he was worried or anything. Of course not. Never.

He wasn't _worried_ about her recent assignment in Prague where she'd _calmly_ assassinated a senator and his family because the CIA caught wind of his plot to depose the current democracy. That's what _they_ said.

Or the story the analysts chatted excitedly about- how she'd spent weeks seducing her mark only to 'take care' of him a second time. Maybe the ease in which she submitted to that order would've caused some worry. But not too much.

NSA personnel didn't usually enter CIA halls, so he'd never seen the frigid atmosphere that workers described she exuded. He wouldn't believe she'd screamed at another agent and pulled her gun on him for accidentally bumping into her. The fear of her that sent the lower ranked scuttling at her presence was _normal_. Nothing wrong with a bit of old fashioned veneer building to repel personal attachments.

And since partners rarely kept in contact with each other after long term assignments, her lack of communication was fairly normal too. The comradeship they'd built together (that had always been hidden) and with their asset had been professional at best.

It was to be expected that she would excel up through the agency ranks, completing mission after mission with full success and efficiency. He tried to convince himself that she'd ascended two security clearances in half a year was purely her youth, potential, and skill; being hailed as the next big thing of the American undercover world.

Half a year. Nothing to worry about. He had his own assignments to complete, people to kill, guns to clean, and civilians to bully. He was a busy man.

He wasn't in denial at all.

Unlike a certain CIA woman whose career he'd kept up with.

He was almost jealous of the quickness and ease she'd slipped from her last personality as 'Sarah Walker' into this new 'Laura' woman.

And how suspiciously easy it was for her to give up any memories of a failed assignment to fit seamlessly into her hew persona.

Not many agents would be able to get rid of emotions that quickly. Especially one that failed, crashed and burned as this one did.

But _She_ had.

Naturally, his suspicion of her attachment to her asset was off the mark. Sarah was a highly trained operative, he had probably misread her protection of the asset and thought they were real feelings.

There wasn't any other explanation.

If that was true, and Agent Walker was _not_ compromised, Agent Forrest's appearance to 'evaluate her performance' near the end of their working relationship_ had_ to have been for another reason entirely. And her report that Walker had been deeply compromised must've been code.

Sarah Walker had just seduced another mark, she'd just ruined another man, another life. All in a day's work.

That must be it. Because to think about it, not that he was thinking or mulling over his former partner's transformation- she hadn't even turned up to _His_ funeral on the day they were to report back to Langley.

She'd clearly moved on.

Sarah Walker was just another professional.

--

--

_It's looking like a limb torn off_

_Or altogether just taken apart_

_We're reeling through an endless fall_

_We are the ever-living ghost of what once was_

_But someone,_

_They could have warned you_

_When things start splitting at the seams and now_

_The whole thing's tumbling down_

_Things start splitting at the seams and now_

_If things start splitting at the seams and now,_

_It's tumbling down_

_Hard._

--

--

Even when he put it at the back of his mind, the whole mystery of her amazing transformation of character surged up the next time he set foot in CIA headquarters.

Very inconspicuously (because he was the utmost soldier who didn't show his feelings), he kept an eye out. Not for _her_. Never-

There.

His eyes zoomed into her like she was a magnet, narrowing in scrutiny as she strode measuredly towards him without a nod or an acknowledgment, clearly intending to pass him without a word.

Two months ago, there wouldn't have been the severe eyebrows, the level, piercing blue eyes that radiated flinty coldness and complete detachment. Her mouth would not be a straight line, pursed together in displeasure. Her clothing wouldn't be crisp, perfectly cut and arranged, hair not in a tight bun and her walk would not be the clipped staccato steps that echoed through the white hallways.

John Casey just could not reconcile himself to this picture he was looking at now.

Two months ago, he could imagine her leaning on the front of the Nerd Herder with Chuck Bartowski next to the beach at sunset. She'd have gleaming, soft eyes as she stared at him with a smitten beam on her lips. Her posture would've been relaxed as she stood very close to him, maybe even with their shoulders touching. She'd be wearing casual chic, hair free flowing, no red, clothing that reflected Chuck's easygoing nature.

And two months ago, Chuck Bartowski would not have been six feet under, in a wooden box and still as stone.

But then, unable to help himself, John turned even more to watch her departing stature.

A glint of metal drew his eyes down.

Suddenly he found it hard to breathe. A hand constricting his heart and it felt unnaturally loud as it tried to thump it's way out of his chest.

He closed his eyes tightly and looked up to the ceiling to withhold the burning feeling. Major John Casey could not help but think of the irony that he was now the sentimental one of the two.

With his second glance at Laura Eckert he noted with new clarity, the brittleness in her shoulders that looked as if they would crumble at any moment. He saw the tension in her spine, the painfully straight posture, the working of her throat.

He knew she'd seen him. He could still read her better than he had any other partner.

His hand darted out in a flash to clamp down on hers in a bruising grip, his fingers wrapping around the obnoxiously and cheerfully, twinkling bracelet that encircled her right hand.

The sharp pointy bits jabbed painfully into his skin. Not unlike the bitter thorn in his heart at what Sarah had become.

She wrenched her hand away violently, and almost tenderly cradled the piece of jewelry (almost a cardinal sin to wear as it allowed you to be identified) as she made sure it wasn't damaged.

But the damage _was_ done, he'd steered her to face him, and when she looked up angrily, he could see the pain, the aching loneliness, glistening in her eyes.

All his doubts drained away.

* * *

Why are the line breaks so small??

I'm still see-sawing on whether I should've ended it on the note that he saw the bracelet, which is a symbol in it's own right, and a huge significance that she's wearing it, especially in her line of work (not to mention _successful_ career). But I decided to indulge my penchant to overwrite and kept it there.

My first draft was more emotional, but it didn't fit with Casey's character, or Sarah's new one.

I hope the whole bracelet-huge-defining-moment worked. :)

Oh and if you have a fav story, go to .net/topic/49974/14522145/1/ to vote for it and your favourite authors!

Pwease review :( even though this little drabble's quite Charah-murder...


	4. Chapter 4: Gift

Hee. Just in time for Xmas ;)

Very random. But I'm trying to dig myself out of the very deep hole of non-writing. Lol.

Not sure where it fits in any timeline or year, maybe the middle of season one after the Lou fiasco? Even though even that doesn't quite work because of episode four. Or the end of season one...?

Disclaimer: Can't say I don't own Chuck yet, may be sitting beneath my tree!

* * *

**059. Gift**

--

_For my own._

--

1996, Vancouver, BC

-

_Rebecca Carlson, fourteen, sat by the window with her knees drawn up to her knees as she watched the delicate snowflakes falling gently outside. The snow on the lawn came up to her knees; she was the smallest in her class. School was canceled today but she couldn't say she was disappointed.  
_

_She could see the family across the street pulling into their driveway in their Land Rover, a large, green pine tree strapped to the roof. Two kids tumbled out of the side doors excitedly, bundled up in their North Face jackets, noses red and thick hand-knitted woolen beanies jammed over both heads and ears. A tall man with curly brown hair stepped out of the car too, ducking into the backseat one more time and coming out with a swaddled bundle carefully nestled in his arms. _

_The woman who had stepped out of the house when the Rover first pulled up herded her kids inside, trying to look serious as she brushed the snow from their shoulders, but laughed anyway when her husband kissed her cheek, handing her the little infant. _

_Rebecca leaned her own cheek against the cold glass, watching the cloud of fog from her breath blur her vision of the man hauling the tree from the car roof. The chill of the hard material seemed to jolt her out of her pensive mood and her dry cracked lips reminded her that, no, this was not a dream. This was her life._

_"Hey golden-hair."_

_Fisting her hands in the sleeves of her thin threadbare jumper to warm them up, Rebecca tried to fix a smile to her face before turning to her father. It didn't quite work- maybe her cheeks were too frozen with the temperature to maintain the pale grin before it dropped. It was too hard to pretend today. _

_"Hi daddy," Rebecca greeted, taking note of his pleased expression and the way he held his hands behind his back. _

_John Carlson, thirty-something businessman of middle class moved closer to her, towards the light. They couldn't afford much heating, and they conserved electricity as much as possible over this winter. _

_"Good news," He announced gaily, looking as if he was congratulating himself rather than looking for her approval, "This won't be our home much longer. I'm almost done, and then we'll move in time for Christmas."_

_This isn't home, we're just 'house-sitting' without the owner's knowledge, Rebecca wanted to say, And it IS Christmas. It's the day after tomorrow._

_"That's great," She said without enthusiasm. John hadn't looked much happy these last few years that she didn't want to spoil his mood whenever he was. _

_He looked at her strangely, finally noticing her somber tone. For a moment, Rebecca thought she could see the yearning in his eyes to comfort her, and that was enough to inject a little more life into her lips for a twitch upward in a parody of a grin._

_John knelt in front of her with a smaller, more genuine smile. "I got you this, darlin'."_

_Slowly, he pulled out a small plastic bag full of water. _

_Rebecca saw her father smile when she leaned forward with both hands, fully intent on the little moving goldfish, "Daddy?"_

_"It's tail reminded me of your hair," He said awkwardly, reaching out to smooth a tendril from her forehead. John looked wistful, as if he was seeing someone else behind the golden veil that fell over her face. _

_She watched, mesmerised at the way the long golden-tipped tail of the fish moved gracefully, reflecting the dim light off it's scales. "Thank-you."_

_John stood stiffly, his knees were giving him problems, especially in these low temperatures. A jovial smile was on his face again, none of that tender light in his eyes visible. _

_"I'll get us some supper," He said, walking into the kitchen without a glance back. _

_Rebecca turned her attention back onto the small bag, at the way the plastic wobbled from the movement of the water when she touched the outside, and the fish swimming in circles._

_--_

_"Leave it," John ordered as Rebecca made to pick up the baked beans can, "It'll be hard to bring on the road."_

_Rebecca clutched Goldie to her chest, "It's a she, and her name is Goldie," She said firmly, trying to stand her ground._

_John's eyes were unyielding, "It's a goldfish. Darlin', this is why you don't make attachments, or name your 'belongings'. You'll have to leave them eventually."_

_"It's _mine_." Rebecca said softly, meeting his gaze. _

_Without another word, he headed to the car, their whole life's possessions clutched in two bags in each hand. _

_With an iron will, Rebecca kept her lips from trembling as she burned in outright anger. It was Christmas today, and their neighbours were all still in their pajamas in front of their decorated trees, hot chocolate in their hands. Corny as the whole thing was, she wanted it. She didn't want to be in a car, crossing the Canada/America border on Christmas Day, or breaking into another house on Boxing Day, assuming another identity by New Years._

_It was a fish. But it was hers. She didn't have many possessions she could tie to her name, to _her_, as a person. Nothing to define herself as an individual. _

_There was practically nothing that could prove her existence. _

_She didn't have a home. She didn't have a name that was _hers,_ which she could keep. Or sentimental items, personal belongings, clothes... anything. _

_In a day, she could be someone else and have their possessions. But really, they wouldn't be hers._

_"I'm sorry, Goldie," Rebecca said softly, "You can't come."_

_She set the can on the top of the small kitchen table and walked away._

_--_

2008, LA, California, US

-

"Chuck?"

He stood awkwardly, clearly trying to keep something hidden behind him. "Hey Sarah," Chuck said with a cheerful smile.

Sarah looked at him suspiciously, standing to the side of the doorway while he edged past with his back to the wall.

"Why are you here?" She asked, her hands self-consciously moving to re-tighten her thin robe. Chuck's eyes darted to the movement of her hands, and she spoke to avert his gaze, fighting the heat that rose to her neck. "Aren't you supposed to be with Ellie and Devon for Christmas Eve? I'm only supposed to meet you at your apartment at seven."

Chuck glanced over at her bed, at the dress she'd laid out and the heels on the floor that sat below the hanging hemline with a small smile. "Blue?"

"You like blue, don't you?" Sarah asked, biting her lip when he laughed.

"Yes," Chuck agreed, "Are you using your spy tricks to determine my favourite colour, Ms. Walker?"

"You look at me more when I'm wearing it."

He looked up, half surprised and half amused at her omission. Sarah ran her hand through her wet hair nervously at her slip, "I mean, I'm trained to observe, you know, Chuck."

"What if I told you that it wasn't my favourite colour?" Chuck said casually, smiling at her.

Sarah looked from the dress to his face, "What?"

She must've looked lost, because he took pity on her, "It's my favourite colour only because you're wearing it."

Her hands were sweaty, and she was dimly aware of the way her heartbeat sped up rapidly.

"Are you okay?" Chuck added when she didn't answer, "You look a little red."

He reached forward, and froze with horror when the item in his hand was revealed.

Sarah's mouth dropped a little, her eyes resting solely on the bag, feeling more vulnerable than she was comfortable with. She could hear her own breathing loudly. "Chuck...?"

It was his turn to shift uncomfortably as he chuckled, "I'm sure you don't keep a diary... so I thought you needed a friend to confide in."

She looked from the goldfish to his apprehensive gaze without a word, and he rambled on nervously, "It's not hard to take care of it, even for you..."

Sarah shut her jaw, feeling her eyes soften when she saw his wide-eyed look, like a puppy begging for a scratch on its belly from its master. "It's a goldfish," She said blankly.

Chuck proudly held it higher, and it swayed closer to her with his move. The goldfish was fat and bloated, its eyeballs protruding ridiculously from it's small head, but Sarah couldn't help but feel her heart swell when she looked at it.

"Well I can have it if you really don't like it," Chuck defended, pulling it back towards him. "I could do with a deep, meaningful conversation with a goldfish. Or even Casey, he wouldn't dare kill an innocent sea creature. It'd go well with his bonsai. Maybe it could remind him that things are meant to be living, not dead."

He shook his head at the last thought. Sarah's hands shot out to curl around his single warm one, her eyes rising to meet his own. "No!" She said quickly, "Chuck- thank you. I'll have... it."

Releasing the bag, Chuck pulled his hand back reluctantly. "I thought I'd bring it over before Ellie killed me for buying you a goldfish for Christmas."

Sarah couldn't help a small laugh as she looked at Chuck's charming grin, unable to keep from glancing at him every few seconds. The pleased smile on her lips encouraged his own giant beam to cross his face, and he broke the silence between them when walked past her to into the small kitchenette.

"Do you have anything to put the fish in?" Chuck asked, his voice muffled by the cupboard in which he'd stuck his head into.

She leaned against the doorway, cradling the present in her arms as if the goldfish were really made of precious gold, "No."

Chuck reached up high, his vibrant electric blue dress-shirt riding high as it untucked itself from his black pants, a pale sliver of skin showing. Sarah reached up with one hand, feeling paranoid as she held her robe closed higher on her chest.

"Okay, here," Chuck sat the glass between them on the table.

Sarah raised an eyebrow, "It's a cup."

"Um, yes it is," Chuck said, insistently pushing it forward another few inches, "But Fishy will be happy enough until you can get him a bowl."

She burst out laughing as Chuck rushed forward to grab the violently bouncing bag and the dizzy fish from her shaking grasp, "Fishy?"

"That's its name," Chuck said, confused, "What's wrong with Fishy?"

"It's lame," She pointed out simply, trying to forget she'd named her first goldfish "Goldie".

The fish had swum until its head touched the plastic, and Sarah was unnerved with its off-center stare for a moment, as if it were trying to see her properly.

"See? It likes you, Sarah," Chuck said with a pleased tone, "Fishy, meet Sarah. Sarah, meet Fishy. You two are going to be the best roommates."

"Chuck," Sarah rolled her eyes, "It's name's not Fishy. I'm going to come up with a better one."

He shrugged, "As long as it's not 'Goldie.'"

Sarah frowned at him as she released the knot at the top of the bag, positioning the top so that Fishy would slide easily into the cup.

She let out a small startled yell when Fishy missed the rim altogether, the cup filling up but the fish flopping hopelessly on the table. Chuck moved his hands away from hers, raising them innocently as she carefully scooped the wriggling fish into its home, her skin all too aware of its contact with Chuck's smooth hands.

"I was just trying to help!" Chuck said as he peered into the glass to observe the fish.

Sarah crossed her arms, ignoring the fact her action was to avoid any more skin on skin contact, "I think it's a good thing the fish is with me, Chuck. You'd kill it within a couple hours."

He straightened up after his examination of the pet, "Your career is dangerous, Sarah. Your terrorist friends could kill Fishy all too easily. He's defenseless."

"Do you think I'd let him get into danger?" Sarah retorted, "He's quite safe with me, Chuck. How would they torture him, _water-boarding_?"

It was then that Sarah realised her breathing quickened with the heat of the moment, and she stared at Chuck. "Trust me, he's mine."

The double meaning wasn't lost on either of them. As their tenuous lightness evaporated finally into real emotions, Chuck looked glad to finally address the problem they had been ignoring the entire week.

"I trust you, Sarah."

--

She finally had something of her own. Gifted to her. Everything in her life had been paid for by the CIA, and now he belonged to her.

Chuck had made that clear before he'd left to help Ellie organize the Christmas party.

That she had _him_ all to herself.

Bending down beside the cup, all dressed for Casa Bartowski, clutch in her hand and keys in the other, she tapped the glass, her eyes unable to leave the swishing gold tail.

"I won't leave you behind again, Goldie," She said quietly, "I'm not leaving any time soon."

* * *

Hehe yes, FL can get this random :) It's much longer than my normal drabbles.

Sorry about_ It's Complicated_, by the way. Kind of stalled on it, combination of me being lazy in editing, and a less-than-enthusiastic response the last chapter had (which was a happy chapter!). Lol. It's alright though, I know it's losing interest. Me too.

I didn't get many presents this year, and xmas is tomorrow! So consider your review a big, big, well decorated gift to me.


	5. Chapter 5: Watching Over You

In light of recent articles around the net debating the Sarah topic, my own opinion is that Sarah Walker is damaged, human, flawed; makes mistakes like the rest of us- that's what makes her beautiful and so relatable to the audience. Season Three was frustrating, but isn't that life?

The mistakes came from both sides, so hopefully they can meet in the middle in this fic and reach some sort of reconciliation.

Rock on, Chuck and Sarah, rock on.

"Sorry"- _Buckcherry_

* * *

**076. Watching over you**

x

_Oh I had a lot to say, was thinking on my time away  
I missed you and things weren't the same._

_I'm sorry I'm bad, I'm sorry you're blue  
I'm sorry about all things I said to you  
And I know, I can't take it back._

x

It was unnaturally quiet in Castle, and that was odd, because Castle was a big hollow space made of concrete filled with whirring machinery and electronic equipment.

Unnerved, Chuck pulled the documents further towards him, playing with the creased edge of the topmost one marked "Top Secret" in glaring red. He shifted uneasily in his chair, the leather sank with a small puff, and the wheels squeaked under the shift of his weight. Casey shot him a nasty look.

Apparently he was the only one feeling fidgety. He snuck a glance at the others; Shaw was deeply engrossed in writing something that looked like a three page essay, the majority of paperwork sitting next to him in a neat, "done" pile. Casey sat opposite Shaw at the other end of the metal table, busy scribbling and crossing out, hunched over a haphazard stack of bureaucratic forms and reports.

He couldn't see Sarah's face; half of it was leaning into her palm, and the other in shadow.

Noting the rumpled shoulders of her jacket and the way her hair was falling limply from its bun; Chuck tried to unobtrusively nudge her foot underneath the table. Amused, he watched the way her head shot up and she re-tightened her grip around her pen, casually pretending that for the last ten minutes she'd been diligently filling out personal reports for Beckman.

Sarah looked at him with a small smile, but he wasn't fooled; the red-rims of her eyes and the paleness of her skin betrayed her weariness.

Shaw had sent her out on two consecutive nights, staking out a building in downtown Los Angeles that a suspected Russian agent was staying while in the country (illegally), while keeping up the front of her cover job during the daytime.

She blinked hard to clear her vision but still looked like she was one eye-close away from falling asleep on Vladimir's the Russian's face.

At her slight movement away from the table, Chuck focused back intently on the same sentence he'd been staring at for the last half-hour. Sarah stood up wordlessly and headed for the back of Castle.

He could almost feel the moment Shaw looked up to watch her leave.

Checking his watch, Chuck plastered a smile to his face and stood. "Well gentlemen, I'm going to skedaddle now… bye!"

He did an about turn, but Casey's accusing growl stopped him in his tracks.

"Wait a minute. What about the stuff Beckman sent you?"

Chuck shrugged, sliding his arms into his jacket. "See the date at the top, Casey? Beckman's not expecting these back until Thursday. Some of us have lives you know. It's getting late… and Hannah's waiting for me."

Without waiting for a reply, he walked away.

"Hey moron," Casey almost snarled. "Door's that way."

Frowning at Casey rebelliously, Chuck walked deeper into the corridor that led into Castle instead of starting for the staircase. Casey appeared to have been just as affected by the strain between the team as Chuck was this week and was in a perpetual bad mood. Shaw seemed impervious (as he was probably the main reason for it); and if Sarah could feel it, she was much too professional to admit anything. If he didn't know better, Chuck would think Casey resented the fact Chuck and Sarah weren't on good terms and never failed to glare darkly when Shaw entered the room, bringing with him a tempestuous storm cloud that hovered over all of them.

Casey's mood soured his disposition."I'm going to grab my stuff," Chuck said shortly, avoiding eye-contact.

He walked resolutely further into the gloom. But a minute later, his prior confidence fled and he could feel sweat on his palms. Checking the noise his shoes made, Chuck stole around another corner with trepidation. His pulse was racing the further he retreated into the fortress.

Wiping his palms against his pants, he stopped short. The door was closed, and no light peeked through the doorframe. He let out a breath in disappointment.

"Looking for me?"

Chuck whipped around.

"Sarah!"

She was leaning in the shadows against a square pillar, watching him calmly. He must have tiptoed straight past her. Blushing, he looked down to zip up his jacket, wasting time so he could compose himself.

Her arms were crossed across her blazer. He noticed her bare feet against the stark grey floor, her heels nowhere to be seen. Sarah's face was a little pink, and her hair was curling a bit around her forehead as if they'd gotten damp while she splashed water over her face. The rest of her hair was unpinned, tumbling around her shoulders.

His heart lurched at how gorgeous she looked in the dim light in spite of her obvious tiredness, or the way she didn't seem as well put together as normal. The small smile she wore at the table was present- but too rigid for it to be natural.

"Hey stranger," Sarah greeted.

Chuck couldn't bring himself to bridge the hallway and maintained the separation by leaning on the opposite wall. "Hi…"

Her defensive posture made him uncomfortable and he mimicked her position by crossing his arms. He ventured, "How are you?"

"Good, good."

As he did every time it was just the two of them alone without distractions, he found that he couldn't dwell on anything else but everything that had happened in the past. The dull ache in his chest flared up again, almost searing his insides with equal measures of guilt, shame, longing.

There was nothing to say. Chuck met her gaze evenly. Tension didn't rise in the space between them; and it was simply that, a hollow, empty chasm.

She seemed content to let him stand in silence. His resolve crumbled first, as he knew she expected.

"Ellie misses you."

He intentionally let the "I" hang in the air like an anchor.

The first blood was drawn. Chuck saw her swallow jerkily. For the first time since finding her down here, her guard slipped briefly. The flash of hurt in her eyes couldn't be disguised and he almost stepped back in its intensity before she snatched it back behind the wall named Shaw. She knew he had seen it, and her chin tilted up slightly, as if in a challenge- but the traces of bitterness and desperation left behind couldn't be erased. Those he could identify easily. He felt relieved he could still read her.

It was like a tug-of-war.

He knew exactly what the indestructible wall separating them was made of (he can see that she does too); but he doesn't apologise for Hannah, and she doesn't offer any explanation for Shaw. They're at an impasse. All of a sudden, he felt very stubborn; he refused to admit that Hannah was nothing but a good choice.

Thinking of the diminutive brunette made him reach half-way up for his Buy More tie before he stays his hand half-way. Chuck is sure Sarah's eyes flick to his neck briefly, where the tie is clearly not of the Sarah-variety or the skewed Chuck-special but something altogether different and at that moment, Chuck feels it constricting around his windpipe.

Sarah mustered her defence, "And I miss her."

There is no room in "I miss her" for a possible replacement of "you". Sarah made sure of that.

"She'd say that you should take care of yourself more," Chuck offered. He concentrates on trying not to shrink underneath her intense blue stare, almost navy in dark amusement.

The distance between them, more than just physically, is emphasised a hundred-fold by the latent hostility in the undertone of her voice. Chuck hoped it was just overcompensation of some sort of defence mechanism. But he wasn't about call her out with the weak hand he has this round.

"And what else does _Ellie_ want to say to me?"

The smile that twisted her lips wasn't pretty.

A feeling of irritation swelled in Chuck's gut. He acknowledged that leaving her in Prague had been the worst decision of his life, but the slew of questionable decisions in the aftermath hadn't all come from him. He didn't expect her to forgive him straight away but she sure wasn't making it easy. Ruefully, he supposed that was why she was worth all of his effort and pain.

He brushed away the temptation to use Ellie again as a funnel for his emotions. Stepping forward into the middle of the hallway where he could not lean on anything but his own spine and with nowhere to hide, he mustered all his sincerity: "I still care about you."

And with that, Sarah seemed to deflate instantly before him.

"I can't pretend I don't, Sarah. Because I do, very much so. Nothing's gonna ever change that. Not Shaw, not Hannah, not anything."

With his heart completely bared before her, he tried to gauge her reaction. Deciding to take the chance, he reached out and for a beat he wondered if she would punch him. But no; she stepped willingly into his hand, and let him slide his fingers along her jaw.

The movement was more intimate than he had anticipated, and when Sarah met his gaze full-on, he was woefully unprepared for the emotions he saw there. In that moment, he could tell she missed all their movie marathons, their non-conversations, and their mutual mission of destroying Fort Casey as much as he had, if not more.

"You're not invincible," Chuck reminded her softly. "Take a few days off. The world will still have its assorted bad guys and nuclear-stealing dictators when you come back, I promise."

She closed her eyes when his thumb made its way around the curve of her patrician cheekbone and the trust she still displayed in his hands gave him hope that maybe not was all lost when it came to them.

He laughed, trying to alleviate the atmosphere with some gentle teasing. "You can be assured that this time I will keep your spastic colon problem a national secret."

The smile she rewarded him with was blinding in its intensity. For a moment, he wondered if she was going to kiss him when she fixes him with _that_ look. But as she teetered, he decided that it was too soon, and he let his hand drop by his side, stepping back.

"Thank you, Chuck."

She placed her hand on his chest and rested it over his heart for a split-second. She gave him a little sad smile, before she headed back towards Casey, Shaw, and the real world.

Chuck propped himself against the same pillar Sarah had been leaning on. His body was buzzing after their encounter.

After five minutes, he made his way back too. Casey looked up sharply as he entered the room and they locked gazes over the top of Shaw's bent head. Finally, Casey nodded imperceptibly at him, looking vaguely satisfied.

"G'night, Lemon."

x

_This time I think, I'm to blame  
It's harder to get through the days_

_It's never too late to make it right_

_And I just wanted to say, I'm sorry._

x

* * *

It's harder getting back into writing than I thought. Huh.

I'd just like to say, before I get burned: I hate Shaw as much as the next person. But that kind of one-sided view is exactly why I'm writing this. Relationships are about give and take- and although that was a catastrophic mistake, Sarah gave up EVERYTHING to run away with Chuck (which by the way) what the audience wanted from the start, and Chuck was the one to make the first move that pushed Sarah away. I love Chuck, because he loves Sarah unconditionally, and I emphasise _unconditional_- because he forgave her at the end, as she did him, without needing an apology first. That is a very hard, and sacrificial thing to do.

That is a male role model that is not threatened by the free female will at all. I am just trying to present you with both sides of the argument. Whether you maintain a narrow, tunnel vision or not, is up to you.

But I think everyone needs to take off their feminist, misogynist or double-standard armour for once (Because what do you call Lou, and Hannah, and Jill?).


End file.
